My husband and I have always been sports enthusiasts. We played multiple sports in high school, participated in sports in college and raised our kids to swim, kayak, skate, ski, bike, play soccer, tennis, and baseball.
When the kids left home for college, my husband announced he would like to take up golf again. There was a course three miles away and he had played there in his early teens with his family. I shuddered as he declared his interest.
My grandfather had tried to teach me to swing at the little white ball when I was a young teen. "Stick your butt out, waggle the club, take it back, now hit the ball", he would coach. I tried to follow his directions only to hit the ground, miss the ball, and feel the reverberations all the way up my arm. It only took a couple weeks for me to give up and return to tennis, bikes, and swimming. Summer was too short to be that frustrated.
My husband's interest in golf left me with a dilemma. I could send him off to play golf on Saturdays and Sundays and find something to do on my own or I could try my hand at the elusive sport once again. I went with the latter hoping some miracle would occur once I appeared at the golf course with my new gear, shoes, and outfit.It has been twelve years since my husband's announcement. Tomorrow we will strike out to a favorite course in a neighboring town. We will hit some good shots and some disasters. We will laugh and we will groan. We will stop to gaze upon a gift of nature be it plant, animal, or scenery. I am not a good golfer nor is he but we enjoy each other, the outdoors, and the challenge that little white ball presents each time we try to connect with it.